


Survival is More than Staying Alive

by mylatestobsession



Series: End!Verse Surviving [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylatestobsession/pseuds/mylatestobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything in the post-Apocalypse world is bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival is More than Staying Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Izzy/keepyourguttersoul and her lovely inspirational fluffy plot bunnies. This will be connected to a series of End!Verse one shots.

The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached camp. Dean's skin was raw from it's ray, the heat burning it red along his neck, across his cheeks and nose, and down his forearms. His shirt was stained in sweat and dirt, clinging to his body in new ways with each twist of his movements.

When running his arm across his face didn't help to alleviate the grime he could feel, making his skin crawl, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt and repeated the process. 

They were back, but their work was not done. Dean's muscles ached, but he helped unload the haul they had brought back. Much needed equipment and some meager supplies. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon line as he made the long walk back and forth from the truck. He watched it slip more and more from sight, feeling a deep ache as his distance from where he really wanted to be, was prolonged.

But he couldn't leave until everyone could.

***

The candle in his hand was a mixture of different waxes they had been able to salvage. This one happened to be another blend of crayon reds and unscented white, forever making Dean remember Christmas now long gone.

It barely touched the darkness he was greeted with after the weary creak of the front door, a feeling he could very much relate too. Out of habit, he walked around the space that might have once been a living room, lighting more candles. Their hodgepodge of scents filling the room, simple vanillas, tangy cranapples, and something that claimed to be the way fresh mountain air smelled. New wax began to drip over ledges or pooling in saucers, shimmering in the natural light. There was a coffee table, TV stand, and couch all standing in their ancient spots, as if a family might return and pick up where they had left off. But instead of being filled with throw pillows, media players, and knickknacks; they were covered with weapons, both make shift and professionally crafted, dirt, and rusted tools.

There was a chill in the air, not the worst he had felt, it certainly felt good at the moment. But it would get cold tonight, maybe more than their sleeping bags could handle. Heading back outside, Dean returned quickly with a load of wood from the communal shed, dumping them into the pit they had built in the corner of the room. 

From his pocket he pulled kindling and flint. With well practiced ease, Dean struck the flint together twice before a spark flew and caught the flammable material.

With a little care, the fire was soon crackling.

A groan passed Dean lips as he stiffly shifted onto his sleeping bag, it too was cool to the touch, having laid on the floor all day while he was gone. With care, Dean was able to lay down on it, though it took longer for him to relax. On his side, Dean's eyes easily closed, the air around him steadily warming.

He dreamed of warm pies. The scent surrounded him, swallowing him in the comfort that had always came with their consumption. He swam in it, eating pie after pie, cherries, apples, bumble berry and even a mince meat pie. Hunger did not drive him in his endless feast, nor was he sick or nauseous in the after affect. It was like every good memory of his life long pursuit of the popular dessert all at once. The apple one seemed to dominate the experience. He could smell the cinnamon as vividly as if it was actually there, just as he could practically taste the flaky crust in his mouth.

Reality came back and for only a fleeting moment it was distressing, as he mourned the loss of his favorite snack. 

There was a knife at his hip and a gun at his fingertips. But he knew he didn't need either of them now. The sound of careful shuffling bare feet and jean material against the floor boards was as familiar as the weight that was soon against his body. 

Cas had just moved to kneeling next to him, when Dean slide onto his back. He watched as Cas threw his leg over his hips, but the fallen angel didn't stop until he was completely over him, propping himself up on his forearms. "You smell horrible."

Dean chuckled, "Nice to see you too. I was beginning to wonder where you had gone."

"Afraid I had run off with those girls?" Cas asked in a teasing tone, with a smile that matched.

"Always." Dean whispered softly, truthfully, in a way that sobered his tone and features.

His smile faltered for a moment, as Cas gazed at Dean in a way only he could. It made Dean feel precious, almost sacred. A silent expression of love, when words had never been enough for their bond.

"You took a bath." Dean noted, admiring how clean Castiel looked. The hue of pink that had lingered on his skin from scrubbing the filth of the road from him. 

"Something you seemed to have skipped," Cas replied easily, his mouth hanging open for a moment as he caught his breath, when Dean trailed his fingertips along the backs of his arms, making him tremble.

"And yet, it hasn't seemed to put you off at all." Dean countered, meeting Cas' grin with his own as their lips brushed together.

"Maybe I didn't plan on staying clean long?" They exchanged fleeting kisses that were increasing in their intensity. "If your not too tired of course."

He was truthfully, but as always, Dean found an strength in the passion he found when he was close to Castiel. His hands slid along Cas' sides, up his back and under his shirt as he pulled him against himself.

"But first."

Dean opened his eyes as Castiel shifted away from him and into an upright position. He whined, albeit playfully in a way he would only in private moments like this, as he allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position.

Before Cas could do anything else though, Dean moved him into a more secure position on his lap. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's hips, locking his fingers behind the fallen angel's butt. He smirked up at Castiel, feeling his heart beat harder when he saw the look in those blue eyes.

"Are you waking up?"

"What do I get if I am?" Dean asked, leaning in so he could press his face against the exposed patch of Cas's chest, where he had left his shirt unbuttoned. Distantly, Dean remembered coaching Castiel on that exact little tip in his first steps towards seduction. Never had Dean believed that the simple scent of soap would ever be so exciting.

"A surprise." Castiel offered, kissing Dean when the hunter looked at him.

"What kind of surprise?" Dean asked in between kisses.

"An outdoor surprise."

Dean frowned when he heard that, loosening his hold on Cas, "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

Acting on the brief moment of Dean's guard being down, Cas started to get up. "You'll love it... trust me." He barely got the response out, as he laughed, when Dean started grabbing for him. Cas struggled into a standing position, as the hunter snatched his hands and clothes.

After smiling and laughing with Castiel, delaying his departure for a few moments, Dean relented and let him go. "You know I trust you, Cas." Dean answered, leaning his head to the side as he watched Cas walk back towards the front door. He was never more thankful that they had been able to rescue those jeans from a leveled department store in New York City. He had broken another man's hand fighting for them, but it had been well worth the scuffle.

"You have no idea how hard it was to keep this from everyone else, let alone you." Cas commented as he stepped outside.

"Are you implying that it's harder to keep secrets from me, than a whole group of people?" Dean asked, unable to prevent the yawn that took over the ending of his question.

"You're tired." Cas put in, leaning through the doorway quickly.

"I am not." Dean called back, rubbing his eyes as he waited for Castiel to return. But he was exhausted, he could feel it creeping back over him as the silence continued. He had almost drifted off to sleep sitting up, when he heard the door open again. "And you never answered my question."

"Of course it's harder to hide things from you." Cas answered matter-a-factly, "I live with you, not them."

"Damn straight and you better...." The joke died on his lips when a familiar scent hit his nose. It was so powerful, so profoundly surprising, it actually scared Dean. As if it was unnatural occurrence that defied all logic and in a way, it was now. His initial reaction had been to actually flee from the arrival of what was connected to the scent.

In the dim light of the still burning fire, he watched as Castiel carried a black object closer to him, the aroma growing stronger with each step. "That can't be." Dean whispered, his eyes wide with shock.

"It is." Castiel answered, carefully setting a black pot down in front of Dean. 

"There's no way...."

Pulling off a pair of heavy leather gloves, Castiel went over to the table and started shuffling through bags of supplies. "It took me a year to gather all the ingredients together. I traded anything I could find that had any value, until I was able to get that piece of cooking equipment." 

Tearing his eyes from the pot, Dean looked to Castiel just in time to watch him sit down next to him. 

In his lap, Cas had the bowls, silverware, and serving spoon from their camping kit. Before he could say anything else, Dean's hand was on top of his own, stopping him from putting one of the gloves back on. The force in the hunter's grip wasn't crushing, but it was firm. He could feel Dean shaking and when he looked up those green eyes were swimming with tears.

"You did this for me?" Dean whispered, his voice strained.

"Of course." Castiel answered gently, leaning over the pot to exchange a brief kiss. "I love you."

Even after all their time together and all they had experienced, on the road, in the battle field and tangled in these very sleeping bags; Dean still found himself wondering how those words were directed at him. "I love you too," Dean answered back easier than he might have even at the brink of the apocalypse.

The new level of horror and death in their lives had made Dean realize a lot of things, most importantly that denying himself the one sense of comfort and love that he desperately wanted and needed was not only pointless, but a waste of their precious time together.

Castiel pulled the lid off the pot and revealed the contents to Dean, letting out a breath of relief when he looked inside of it too. "Thank God it came out. I wasn't able to practice."

"I don't think I would have cared if it had come out like soup, or if you had burned it to a crisp. It smells delicious." Dean asserted eagerly, barely restraining himself from just scooping out the homemade dessert with his hands. "God damn it, it's apple pie."

"Dutch oven apple pie." Cas commented, as he carefully scooped out the treat and ladled it into a bowl, passing it to Dean. "I buried it in the yard while you were gone getting supplies."

"You're a fucking God." Dean said, breathing in deeply the scent of sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. He waited though, until Cas had his own, before he started into his own serving. In his excitement to taste the long denied food, Dean burned the roof of his mouth. But he didn't care. It tasted more than delicious, better than the dozens of dreams where he had swam in floods of pies.

He was barely aware of how fast he was eating until the portion was gone. The sadness that followed was too profound to be reasonable and yet, Cas there, scooping more into his bowl. He ate two more bowls, tapping out on the fourth with a stomach ache that was well worth the pain in his guts.

***

His back hurt from how he was positioned against the wall, as carefully as he could, Cas attempted to adjust his pillow into a better placement. He was able to gain a little more relief, before he blew out the last candle. 

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the only remaining light sources, a little moonlight from the window across from them, and the embers of the fireplace. He wrapped his arms around Dean's sleeping form, kissing his head before he ran his fingers through his hair.

Even with the fire all but gone, he was warm under the weight of Dean's form, wrapped in the sleeping bag they shared.

Dean was sprawled across him, his head resting on Castiel's chest, his arms around his waist. He was snoring softly, as he always did when he was able to sleep deeply. His body relaxed in a way that Dean rarely allowed himself, even in this, their temporary home together.

For a moment, Castiel realized he couldn't remember the last time Dean had slept like this. If they were lucky, Dean might just sleep past the sunrise.


End file.
